Chemistry
by Marianne Greenleaf
Summary: For a woman who isn't in love, Marian Paroo finds herself disturbingly affected by Harold Hill's proximity, as if she was water and he was Greek fire - the two of them dancing together make a decidedly lethal combination.


_A/N – This fic continues my endeavor to fill the spaces in canon exploring how exactly Marian Paroo managed to fall in in love with Harold Hill. Inspired in part by Emery Saks' delightful fic Waltzing Around the Truth, and in part by my having always wanted to write an MG Universe version of this scene, which was filmed but cut from the 1962 film. Set between the events of Running Into Trouble and A Change of Heart._

XXX

_At Waterloo Napoleon did surrender  
And I have met my destiny in quite a similar way  
The history book on the shelf  
Is always repeating itself  
~Waterloo, Mamma Mia!_

XXX

Marian Paroo was never a woman who found herself in a situation and wondered how she got there. For as long as she could remember, she had always lived her life in an orderly, precise, and methodical fashion.

That is, she lived that way until Harold Hill came to town.

At first, the traveling salesman's ostentatious disregard for propriety – and his success at knocking her off balance more often than not – was infuriating. Now, she found it exciting – though her stomach still roiled with the same wonderful terror every time his magnetic gaze alighted on her. When that happened, her brain went fuzzy, as if it had been swathed in the most suffocating cotton, and she couldn't quite recall many particulars of their interactions outside of the way his eyes twinkled whenever she met them with hers and how his delightful grin made her smile stupidly back at him in return.

So Marian wasn't quite sure how she'd ended up dancing with Professor Hill in the gymnasium during the combined boys' band/Ladies Dance Committee rehearsal. One minute, they'd been talking of her joining the ladies in their practice of Delsarte forms, and the next, he'd whisked her out to the middle of the floor.

Dancing with Harold Hill was ten times more exhilarating – and dangerous – than bumping into him. As a librarian, Marian cataloged books into tidy and sensible groupings, and at times she couldn't help bringing this tendency to her personal affairs. She was especially prone to doing this when it was imperative for her to bring at least some semblance of order to the chaos in a particular area of her life. And her delightful but disconcerting physical reactions to Professor Hill's close proximity were precisely the sort of disarray that was in desperate need of such calming analysis.

First of all, she was acutely aware of all the ways in which their bodies were connected – his right hand rested on her waist, her left hand gripped his shoulder, and his left hand covered her right one. In addition to the tingling in these places where they touched, her palms were sweating slightly, her heart was beating at least three times faster than the tempo of the waltz, and the most delicious butterflies unsettled the pit of her stomach. It certainly didn't help matters that Harold was holding her a mite closer than propriety allowed. His embrace was confident and steady, and he moved with a grace that made her feverish enough to dream of closing the remaining distance between them. The temptation to lock eyes with him was almost overwhelming. They were so close together and she could feel the heat of his gaze on her, as if he was silently willing her to look at him in return.

Marian heard her strictest dance instructor's voice ringing in her mind. _The space between your partner's head and right shoulder is your window. Look out of your window at all times. Do not fall into the trap of gazing into your partner's eyes! You will lose your rhythm, step on his feet, and bump into him._

It was a good thing she'd had extensive dance lessons as a girl – otherwise, she'd be tripping all over herself right now. But after years and years of drilling, her feet moved with muscle memory so ingrained it was practically instinct.

This earned her a compliment. "You're a marvelous dancer, Miss Marian," Professor Hill purred, his warm breath tickling her neck. "It's a shame you've been a wallflower for so long."

Marian felt herself blush as red as the scandalous scarlet dress that was presently hidden in the back of her armoire at home. She should have simply acknowledged his praise with a smile and nod, but she couldn't help herself, and replied in a voice that was both shy and sincere, "You dance very well, yourself."

As she spoke, her eyes naturally met his. When she saw that his gaze was indeed as smoldering as she'd sensed – he was looking more intently at her than he ever had before – she immediately averted her eyes to the relative safety of her "window."

To her relief, Professor Hill didn't try to talk to her any further. Instead, he chuckled gently and tightened his hand around her waist, not quite in a possessive manner, but impassioned enough to make her tingle not only in her stomach: his grip sent a startling but electrifying jolt to the secret place deep in between her innermost thighs, which suddenly felt strangely damp.

Marian gave up on trying to catalog any of her physical reactions after that. It was becoming far too dangerous to contemplate. As Professor Hill led her in the dance, she let the music wash over her and thought of absolutely nothing.

But all too soon, the reel on the player piano ran out. As it flapped discordantly, Harold let the librarian go, gave her a flawlessly genteel bow, and retreated. As he scampered back to corner of the gymnasium where Tommy Djilas was leading the boys in a boisterous humming of the _Minuet in G_, Marian became conscious that she was now surrounded by Mrs. Shinn and all of her ladies, who were cooing over how charming she and the professor looked dancing together.

Professor Hill had let her go and was no longer looking at her, but Marian still couldn't think clearly. She felt oddly disconnected, as if he had been grounding her before and now that they were no longer attached, she was floating in some abyss. Thankfully, she had enough presence of mind to go through the motions of sociability, smiling and nodding at the ladies as they continued to fête her, but her attention was almost wholly fixed on Harold as he resumed his place conducting the band. The elegant and spirited way in which he moved made her weak in the knees, to the point where Mrs. Squires kindly led her over to a chair and bade her to sit down while Ethel Toffelmier hastened to fetch her a glass of water.

"You must be thirsty after all that dancing," Mrs. Dunlop said sympathetically.

Marian nodded dumbly, grateful for the alibi they so helpfully provided for her unorthodox stupor, as such complex reasoning was beyond her right now. Once she had drunk the full measure of the liquid refreshment they procured on her behalf, the fog dulling her senses cleared and she felt surprisingly revitalized. Perhaps her strange mood was simply due to needing a drink after all that exertion. It _was_ a hot summer day to be engaging in such frenetic activity as dancing.

Satisfied that their work here was done, the ladies returned to their rehearsal, leaving the librarian to her own devices. Once their attention was fully engrossed elsewhere, Marian sneaked a glance at Professor Hill. He was still conducting the band with a fervor and grace that made her shiver far too pleasantly for comfort.

So it wasn't merely dehydration, after all.

As Professor Hill continued to lead the band, Marian found herself surreptitiously watching him out of the corners of her eyes, keenly aware of things that a spinster shouldn't know, let alone contemplate. But she was a cultured and well-read librarian – she'd seen photographs of Michelangelo's David as well as sketches of Leonardo da Vinci's Vitruvian Man, and she'd even taken a peek at the more disreputable books in Uncle Maddy's collection – so she couldn't help wondering just what Harold's physique looked like beneath his dashing and well-cut suit. His nimbleness of movement suggested a body that was as lean, trim, and muscular as any of the men that the Renaissance masters had portrayed. And when, in his excitement, Harold undid the buttons of his suit-coat entirely, her eyes kept straying to the seat of his trousers and she wistfully speculated, as she never had before, about the illustrative mechanics of a certain portion of his masculine anatomy. If the mere touch of his hand could undo her so thoroughly, how would it feel if they were to make love?

Shocked by her own temerity in voicing such a thought, even in the privacy of her own mind, Marian quickly put a stop to such scandalous ruminations. Firmly reminding herself that while Harold Hill may have proved uncommon, he was still a masher, and therefore _not_ a respectable suitor, let alone potential husband. Once this insuperable truth had finally deadened those bothersome butterflies still fluttering around inside her, she turned her attention to determining the cause of her indecent musings. What was it called when one didn't love a man, but was captivated by his physical appeal?

_Lust_, she realized with a start. She was _lusting_ after Professor Hill!

Thoroughly appalled by her own impertinence, Marian kept her eyes firmly focused on the music she was supposed to be organizing for the Ladies Dance Committee performance. But her mind continued to whirl furiously with self-recrimination. She had _never_ thought in this way about a man, not even those she once believed she was in love with! Her mother had recently scolded her that she needed to stop keeping the flint in one drawer and the steel in the other if she wanted to strike the fire of love in a man. At the time, the librarian was steadfastly determined to not only store these implements separately, but to be the water that doused any attempts to spark such a treacherous flame. She should have known that even water was not entirely immune to immolation – the ancient Greeks used a volatile composition of chemicals that created an incendiary blast as soon as it hit the sea. She may have been water, but Harold Hill was Greek fire, and the two of them dancing together made a decidedly lethal combination.

And to her absolute fury, Marian found herself staring at Harold _again_ – this time openly. As soon as band rehearsal came to a rollicking conclusion, he turned to look at her, as well. When their eyes met, she couldn't look away, even though she knew he was going to grin triumphantly at her the way he did that afternoon when he walked her to the library. And this time, she would be helpless to his charms.

But to her amazement, Harold looked just as awed and arrested as she felt. He did grin at her, but with the delight of a schoolboy whose crush has smiled favorably upon him.

Somehow, Marian found the strength to look away. She _couldn't_ go down that road, as much as she desperately longed to. Professor Hill was always reminding her that he'd only be in town for a short while, and she refused to let him actually make her into the scarlet woman all the ladies believed her to be, despite their strange niceness to her earlier.

But she could no longer fight the powerful attraction between them. And Professor Hill being the clever and shrewd man he was, he certainly knew this. Despite her abruptly breaking their shared glance, he came right over to her.

"May I walk you home, Miss Marian?"

She hardly dared to look at him, once again fixing her eyes in the space over his right shoulder. "I have to wait for Winthrop."

"Of course," he said solicitously, as the boy galloped over to the two of them and threw his arms around the librarian. Once brother and sister had finished exchanging greetings, he persisted, "May I see the both of you home?"

Marian shrugged. "Well, really I – " she stammered, and sputtered uselessly into silence.

Harold grinned, but sweetly, as if he found her discombobulation thoroughly enchanting. "So is that a yes or a no, Madam Librarian?"

Winthrop looked pleadingly at her. Recognizing that she was defeated, Marian nodded her assent, and Professor Hill fell gracefully into step next to them as they exited the gymnasium.

Mercifully, Winthrop filled the charged silence between the two of them by chattering excitedly the whole way to West Elm. Professor Hill was the perfect gentleman, conversing readily with her little brother while aiming the occasional soft smile in her direction. This only endeared him further to Marian, to her tremendous chagrin. By the time they arrived to her front porch, she was furious, both with herself and with the cruel and capricious deity that had sent her the most appealing man she had ever met but whose suit she could not in good conscience encourage.

When Professor Hill said a decorous farewell and took his leave, Mrs. Paroo opened the front door and ushered her children inside. As Marian meticulously removed her hat and then her shawl, her mother beamed at her as if she was planning to pepper her with a thousand questions as soon as she was finished with her ablutions.

"I don't want to hear a single word!" she snapped angrily. As both Mrs. Paroo and Winthrop goggled at her, she fled upstairs to her room.

XXX

In the solace of her tower, Marian sat at her vanity and tried to recover her composure. Naturally, such attempts were futile, and she finally gave herself over to burying her face in her hands and trembling as she relived every single moment of her dance with Harold in the gym. She would _not_ allow herself to cry – she had already shed more than enough tears over a man who would, despite his dogged persistence, ultimately leave her. But she didn't know what to _do_ with this attraction between them anymore – she had told herself from the beginning that she would enjoy it for what it was and then calmly put that book back on the shelf when the time came, and she had meant it. But suddenly, after one little dance together, the idea of Harold's inevitable departure had become too excruciating to contemplate. While she couldn't help liking the man, she _must_ curb her fancy before she got in too deep.

Deciding that she'd wallowed for long enough, Marian stood up to close her curtains so she could change into a lighter gown – the heat of the afternoon was growing too intolerable to remain in her usual workaday ensemble. As she reached for the sash of the window facing the street, she spotted Harold staring wistfully up at her tower from the front gate. Before she could rationally consider how best to react to such an unexpected intrusion, she found herself gasping and backing away from the window. Her heart pounded crazily and she stood frozen for a few moments, once again cataloging her feelings and growing distraught when she recognized that she was, more than anything, elated by his loitering. Especially since it seemed to indicate a genuine desire for her on his part – normally, Professor Hill did everything in the showiest manner possible, including his pursuit of her. This was a gesture that was solitary and furtive and truly romantic, like Romeo spying on Juliet as she daydreamed on her balcony. A few minutes later, Marian finally mustered up the courage to peek back out the window, still not entirely decided as to how she was going to respond, should their eyes meet and that dangerous chemistry between them flare up once again.

Harold Hill was gone. He probably fled as soon as she'd spotted him. When Marian realized she felt far more bereft than relieved by his absence, she could no longer hold back her tears.

At that worst possible moment, Mrs. Paroo knocked on the door, nudged it open, and poked her head into the bedroom. "Marian dear, is everything all right?"

Marian couldn't answer coherently, so she simply shook her head. Her mother immediately came over and wrapped her arms around her. While the librarian was hugely embarrassed by her plight and not at all inclined to disclose the full measure of her dismay, there was nothing more comforting and tongue-loosening than a warm hug from an Irish mother.

"Professor Hill and I danced together in the gymnasium at rehearsal today," she confessed. "Afterward, I allowed him to walk me home, and I caught him standing outside staring up at my room just before you came in. I don't know whether he's trying to seduce me or court me or _what_ he's trying to do."

Mrs. Paroo patted her sympathetically on the shoulder, which did a great deal to soften her blunt assessment of the situation: "I think Professor Hill likes you. And I think that you like him, too."

"But I _can't_ like him – at least, not too much!" Marian cried. "He's a traveling salesman! He's going to leave River City eventually. It would be foolish to allow myself to grow attached to such a man. It would be like" – her mind cast frantically about for a metaphor her less well-read mother would understand, until her eyes landed on the treasured porcelain jar that held the pink rose Harold had recently given her (why did everything have to come back to _him_?) – "planting a rose in the desert!"

Mrs. Paroo let out a chuckle that was more of a sigh. "You always did put the cart before the horse, me girl. There are often very good reasons for a man and a woman not to fall in love. You don't think your father and I fought against our feelings, at first? He was a traveling trumpet player, my piano teacher, ten years my senior, and a Protestant, to boot!" She let out a large belly laugh. "And look how that turned out! Don't worry too much about what the future holds for you and Professor Hill, not yet. Try getting to know the man a little better first, before you concern yourself with all that. Have you even tried having a conversation with him?"

Chastened by her oversight of Papa's excellent advice, which she had previously professed to live by whenever her mother nagged her to find a husband, Marian reviewed all of her interactions with Professor Hill. Other than awkward silences occasionally punctured by the exchange of barbed flirtation, they had not truly conversed about anything of substance. "Well, no," she admitted. "But it's much too dangerous. I can't trust his honor enough to be alone with him." And she most certainly couldn't trust _herself_ – not anymore.

Mrs. Paroo shrugged as if this was the most insignificant of obstacles. "Meet him in a public place, then. The library or the Candy Kitchen should do nicely." Her eyes twinkled. "And if you allow Professor Hill to call on you at home, you can talk to him on the front porch or in the parlor, depending on the weather. Now, why don't you dry your tears, change your gown, and come down to the kitchen for a nice cup of tea and a slice of the pound cake I baked earlier?"

And with that, the matron planted a kiss on Marian's forehead and left her alone.

Feeling a great deal more settled than she had all afternoon, the librarian washed herself up and donned her most comfortable lingerie gown. She even had the spirit to laugh at her own immoderate haste to catalog whatever this strange chemistry was that she had with Harold. Because for once, her mother was absolutely right – she hadn't had so much as one real conversation with the man! And now that she was made aware of this lack, she keenly wanted to assuage it. In all likelihood, as the two of them got to know each other better, she would realize how very different they truly were, and her bothersome physical attraction to him would no doubt fade. Then she could bid him farewell with a smile on her face.

But where could Marian best arrange to talk to him? The library was out of the question, as Professor Hill was banned for life after his little stunt, and she was disinclined to rescind that ban just yet. Her front porch and parlor were also not possible at this juncture in their acquaintance (she refused to call it a _courtship_) – even Harold Hill wasn't bold enough to call on her at home without her say-so. But the Candy Kitchen might just be an achievable possibility.


End file.
